


Good Vibes

by IneffableAlien



Series: Proverbs 20:12 [3]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Caring Aziraphale (Good Omens), Crowley Created the Stars (Good Omens), Crowley Has Feelings (Good Omens), Crowley Has Self-Esteem Issues (Good Omens), Crowley's Eyes (Good Omens), Cuddling & Snuggling, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), M/M, Pre-Scene: Body Swap (Good Omens), Romantic Fluff, Senses, Snake Crowley (Good Omens), Stars, Synesthesia, The Night At Crowley's Flat (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-22
Updated: 2019-10-22
Packaged: 2020-12-31 08:23:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,686
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21128996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IneffableAlien/pseuds/IneffableAlien
Summary: Aziraphale navigates snaky sensory experiences the night of the body swap.





	Good Vibes

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy some levity after I tortured you with part 2! This part centers on Aziraphale's freshly found cold-bloodedness, and vibration sensing.
> 
> And yes, we are working toward touch ;)
> 
> Aside: Aziraphale is referring to Moore's Reserve in the South Downs. I am a big supporter of the [International Dark-Sky Association](http://www.darksky.org), please check them out for a worthy cause!

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” said Aziraphale idly, “it’s a beautiful night, even with all the clouds. It’s quite wondrous, really, to observe the way the very rooftops of London seem to stretch up into the sky … How lovely for you, my dear.”

Crowley’s breath hitched raggedly, and Aziraphale turned to see why. Aziraphale was stunned by what he saw then. Crowley’s eyes were wide and frozen to the sky, and his hand was pressed firmly over his mouth. Even so, Aziraphale could make out the way his jaw trembled beneath his fingers. “Crowley!”

It was heartrending especially to see Crowley’s tears intertwined between multiple senses as they were. Visually they faded from sight as they rolled down his cheeks, as tears are wont to do. But under infrared, they only became _more_ apparent the farther they fell, as they cooled away from the temperature of Crowley’s eyes. Crowley was literally a vision of sorrow. “Good Lord, Crowley! What happened? Did I say something wrong?”

Crowley was dropped back to earth by the instinctive need to reassure his angel. “No, not at all,” he said quickly, “you did nothing wrong.”

“Then, please, you must tell me, whatever has you in such a state?”

Crowley didn’t know what to even begin to say. He rarely ever said anything to Aziraphale about Before.

“Angel,” he said, shaking from his core, “it _is_ a clear night. The heat sensing, it must, I dunno, override … angel, my _stars_ …”

“Your stars … ?” And then it hit him. Aziraphale felt like someone had miracled “Let there be light” inside his head. “Oh, Crowley,” he whispered, touching Crowley’s sleeve. “You were a _creator.”_

Crowley looked hollow, hidden behind Aziraphale’s face. Unbeknownst to either of them, the picture recalled how Aziraphale had looked when the Metatron abolished any hope he may have had left in Heaven—when Aziraphale realized that one entity in the whole world had always earned his faith, and he had tried to push that one away.

At Aziraphale’s touch, no new tears came, but Crowley looked no better for it. Aziraphale moved his hand to Crowley’s cheek, wiped away a tear, traced his jaw with his thumb. “Crowley. I am so sorry.”

“Did I really deserve all that?” Crowley asked weakly, and it shattered Aziraphale, because it did not sound like a rhetorical question; instead, Crowley really wasn’t sure of the answer. Crowley tried to cover up his brokenness with a bitter laugh. “Guess it wasn’t enough for ‘Mom’ to just throw me out, She had to take my ‘kids’ with Her. Absolute bollocks.”

_“You did not deserve that,”_ Aziraphale answered, and Crowley was taken aback by the fierceness of the proclamation. The blasphemy of its sureness scared Crowley a little, forced him to envision Aziraphale Falling. Crowley made an unidentifiable noise as he leaned into Aziraphale’s palm. Aziraphale lifted Crowley’s chin in both his hands now, and it was strange, it was such a minor thing, but it relaxed Crowley a little to be borrowing Aziraphale’s height tonight. He was only a couple inches shorter, but when Aziraphale pulled him in he gave no resistance and automatically buried his face in the angel’s neck.

Well, his own neck, really. It was a mystifying side effect of the switch, actually, that Crowley was subconsciously letting a decent amount of self-loathing melt away. How could he hate himself when he housed the angel? He was admittedly more attached to his corporation than any demon had the right to be—it felt like “him” at this point. Even those eyes he usually thought were horrible had an exotic beauty when he knew it was Aziraphale behind them.

Maybe, just maybe, Crowley thought he wasn’t so bad after all.

As Crowley finally relaxed, he became aware of where he was, of what they were doing, and yes, this was as it was always meant to be. Without this moment here on the balcony, he could have lied to himself, listened to his mindless self-doubt play, tell himself that the affection they traded sitting on the bed was just the logical progression of switching places via handhold, to easing Aziraphale into the experience. And even with that mindset he had felt a pang of guilt, judging himself like perhaps he had been justifying any excuse to touch, and soothe.

Of course, it was Aziraphale to close the distance now. Crowley had always waited patiently for Aziraphale.

Okay, so he had had to have a full-on meltdown for it to happen. Maybe that was the ineffability of it, though. Regardless, his breathing was steady now, and Aziraphale showed no sign of wanting to let go, and if he were only trying to help Crowley through having a moment, well, then he wouldn’t be lazily winding his hand in his hair like that, right?

_Would he?_ Crowley wondered. It wasn’t as if he knew what it was like to be held.

“Crowley, I am going to promise you something right now,” Aziraphale said into Crowley’s hair (white blonde curls at the moment, not that it mattered either way). “This is far from being the last time you will see the stars with my eyes,” he swore. “This will all settle down, we’ll be fine, and we will, I don’t know, go for a nighttime picnic …” Aziraphale appeared thoughtful. “The South Downs, I should think—have you ever been? The humans, I believe they made a reserve of parts of it a few years back. No light pollution, you see.”

“You don’t have to do that,” Crowley mumbled into Aziraphale’s—well, Crowley’s—shirt, but the smile and his fondness could be heard in his voice.

Aziraphale kissed the top of Crowley’s head, and Crowley genuinely believed he might pass out then. “But I’m going to do that. It was a promise, not a request.”

The air had begun to chill, and—oh! That meant the angel must be freezing, heretofore only ever having been warmblooded. Too distracted by Crowley’s pain to acknowledge the cold, it seemed. “I’d love to go to the Downs with you, angel,” Crowley said, “but right now we need to get you off this balcony. Aren’t you cold?”

“It is rather cold!” Aziraphale exclaimed, as though he had just noticed. Crowley guided Aziraphale to the red couch that might have used to be a throne, and wrapped him in a tartan duvet that possibly didn’t exist a moment ago. “Especially my feet. Good Lord, Crowley! My feet feel as if they’re made of ice.”

Crowley sat down next to Aziraphale and picked at some imaginary thread on his pants. “Yeah, ‘bout that.”

Aziraphale looked askance. “Crowley?”

“Yeah,” Crowley said simply, rubbing the back of his neck.

It dawned on Aziraphale. “Why, these aren’t proper shoes at all! You just glamoured your feet to look a little more … shoe-like. A cobbler posing as a cordwainer!”

Crowley snorted loudly. “You really just said ‘cordwainer.’ Like it was a perfectly normal thing to say.”

Aziraphale ignored him. “Well, if they’re not even real, then how did I switch into them?”

Crowley shrugged. “Because you thought they were real.” _Just like you thought you could close your eyes before, and I’m not about to tell you different._

“Crowley.” Aziraphale’s tone had suddenly turned severe.

“Ehh,” said Crowley, who already knew where this was going.

_“Please_ tell me you were wearing shoes. In 1941.”

“I was not.” Crowley could feel the blush spreading across his cheeks, and he cursed his temporary warm blood.

_“Crowley!_ Why on earth not?!”

“So-ah-cuh-her-betta,” Crowley mumbled.

“What??”

Crowley threw his hands up. _“So I could hear better!”_

Aziraphale blinked (and Crowley thought that was just adorable, how much use he was getting out of those phony eyelids). “My dear boy, I’m afraid I don’t follow.”

_Of course he doesn’t,_ Crowley thought. _This is the man-shaped being who for 6,000 years thought that dolphins were a kind of fish._ “My hearing isn’t too great,” Crowley admitted desperately. He was realizing more and more just how vulnerable a position he was really in, how several hours had split wide open so many secrets he bore all the time. “This whole night, you’ve either been standing, or right next to me, yeah? Your brain is just kinda …” He made a meaningless nervous gesture with one hand. “Well. Translating vibrations, I guess. Whatever, do I look like I’d know how it works?”

Aziraphale’s face softened. “Oh, Crowley, I had no idea. About, well, any of this, what you’ve shown me tonight.”

“Well,” Crowley snarked, “why would I want you to know. Not, I mean, if I wanted anyone to know it would be you, but. Why would I want you to fuss?”

Aziraphale crossed his arms over his chest. “I do _not_ ‘fuss.’”

“Oh,” said Crowley, sounding as though Aziraphale had made some point in Crowley’s favor.

“It will be lovely to stargaze with you,” Aziraphale said wistfully, choosing to change the subject instead of debating. “My dear, you may use my body any time. Oh!” Aziraphale recognized his unfortunate choice of words, and his hand fluttered to his lips.

Crowley burst out laughing. “No taking it back now!”

“You old serpent!” Aziraphale tried, and failed, to sound disapproving, as he gave Crowley’s shoulder a playful thwack.

Crowley couldn’t remember ever having felt so free. This new easy touching between them was doing wonders for him.

“In all seriousness, though, angel,” Crowley said with a grin, “when we make that trip to the Downs for me to see the stars, I cannot wait for _you_ to feel the Bentley. In fact …”

Crowley did a quick miracle, and because he had never realized that he really ought to have speakers, Queen’s “Under Pressure” began to play.

“You and your bebop,” said Aziraphale with an eye roll (but to be fair, it was a self-aware joke at this point).

“Oh, I wasn’t done,” said Crowley, and Aziraphale was shocked to see that his own angel face could be arranged in such a wicked way.

Then, without warning, that old serpent snapped his fingers upwards, and cranked up the bass.

**Author's Note:**

> xx [siliconealien](http://siliconealien.tumblr.com)


End file.
